


Dean - 23.5

by phantisma



Series: Ages [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-25
Updated: 2006-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-13 09:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Dean's POV.  When Dean is 23.5(or so), he takes himself off of his anti-psychotic meds, and has a visitation by Reuel, who gives him back the memories of the two years his bargain with the demon erased and re-wrote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean - 23.5

He was twenty three, half way to twenty four. He was a husband, a father…with a son who was four days old. He had a successful business, a decent life. Walking through that door could throw it all away.

He stood in the hallway and stared at the door. It had been his home for nearly three years. In some way he supposed that should be comforting, considering the reasons he was about to walk through it. He shifted his grip on the bag in his hands and considered again just walking away.

The fact that the whole thing was based on a hallucination, on some visitation he may or may not have had only made his stomach churn. If he did this…if he went through that door it was as good as proclaiming that it was all a lie…that his last ten years had been…lost…given over to a haze of drugs and psycho-therapy that was not just unnecessary, but damaging.

Dean shifted on his feet and waited, hoping some inspiration would move him. He could hear Sam inside…could hear voices. His hand rose to the door twice, then slid into his pocket for his cell phone. Kaitlyn picked up on the first ring. “I just…wanted to hear your voice…before.” He swallowed the tears and nodded. “I love you too. Its going to be okay, isn’t it Kate?” He hated himself for needing her to tell him…to assure him. He was supposed to be taking care of her. “Okay…I’m…going. I love you.”

He pocketed the cell phone and took a deep breath. This time his hand actually connected with the door, pushing it open. When he looked up, Sam was on the couch, his father in the kitchen doorway. He looked his father in the eye, his jaw tight as he fought the urge to turn around and run. His eyes moved to Sam’s, where he found compassion…even pain that they had to do this. There was guilt and desire there too.

It only proved that Sam was as fucked up in all of this as Dean. Only reminded Dean how much he had failed. He dropped his gaze and then closed his eyes before taking that final step into the room and closing the door. His fingers worked the handle of the duffle before he tossed it on the couch. “That’s everything.”

Every pill, prescribed or not…current prescriptions and leftovers of old ones. In that duffle was the very tenuous hold Dean Winchester had on what he knew as reality. He followed his father into the bedroom and stopped cold. It wasn’t the odd array of people. The carpet was covered in plastic sheeting, the bed replaced with a bed similar to many he’d woke up on in the psych ward. The night stands were moved to the corners. Anything sharp or pointed had been removed or padded. The walls had layers of soundproofing and even the ceiling had been padded to muffle the noise.

He was vaguely aware of his father making introductions, of speaking something that sounded like gratitude…of clinging to Sam’s hand and staring blindly at the way the overhead light glared off the plastic on the floor. “Tell me that was coffee you were drinking,” he whispered fervently to Sam when he’d had enough of that reality and was ready to retreat into denial for just a little while longer.

He thought it would be better once everyone left…but the quiet was unnerving. He paced, sure he could already feel the symptoms, though he hadn’t technically missed a dose yet. His mind was already working against him. He wanted to run out the door, run home and crawl into bed with Kaitlyn.

“I can’t do this. I can’t.” He paced to the sliding door and back to the breakfast bar. He could hear his father in the bathroom and Sam was watching him from the couch. “What am I doing, Sam?” He ran his hand through his hair. It was getting long, he should have had it cut before coming over. He shook his head and lengthened his pacing into the hallway.

“You’re going to wear the carpet out.”

Dean shook his head. “I’ve got all this nervous energy, you know?” He was crawling out of his skin and things hadn’t even started. “I need to run.”

Sam’s smile was wicked when he said, “I can think of another way…”

Dean’s heart stopped…part of him wanted him to turn Sam down…because it was an old habit…turning to sex, to pain…so that he could stop thinking, stop feeling the guilt and the hurt and feel something else. But Dean was weak and before he knew how, he was on the couch with his dick in Sam’s mouth.

 

He woke in the early hours of the morning, laying against Sam on the couch. It took a great deal of effort to move without waking Sam, but he managed, slipping into the kitchen to brew more coffee and sit alone in the dark.

He’d missed his evening doses…the ones that came right after dinner and the ones just before bed. He knew it was all psychosomatic, that he wasn’t running a fever, that he wasn’t feeling the muscles in his body tighten and the blood in his veins heat up. He knew…but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it.

He hadn’t felt this on edge since…since before he met Kaitlyn. Since the last time he’d cut himself. That only made his eyes dart around the kitchen. No. If he started that now…he’d be dead before this was over.

Dean sat alone in the dark at the kitchen table and drank coffee…his right knee bouncing under the table, his lower lip between his teeth. He worried at it until he tasted blood.

What was he thinking? Dr. MacAfferty had warned him about listening to Sam and their father. She had told him that they would use his weaknesses against him, push him into doing what they wanted. She had told him how bad he could be without the meds…how he could hurt someone…how he could hurt himself.

He clenched his hands in a fist. No. He trusted Sam. Despite everything, he trusted Sam. It was himself he didn’t trust…it was his own illness that he had shoved onto Sam’s shoulders. Dean got up to refill his cup, pausing by the silverware drawer. They had moved nearly everything to the house…but Dean knew they’d left a few knives.

His hands shook as he opened the drawer, coming out with the black handled paring knife. He looked at it, then carefully set it on the counter before delving back into the drawer. He came out with two steak knives and a bread knife and laid them on the counter while he poured his coffee.

It would be so easy. Just a tiny cut. A little sting…just to take the edge off. He spilled his coffee over shaking hands and set it down. His hand hovered over the blades, his eyes closed, air dragging in through his mouth until his throat was dry. One little cut. No one would know…no one would have to know.

With momentous effort, Dean opened the drawer and dumped the knives back in, then turned on his heel and left the kitchen. He stopped and looked at Sam, then shook his head and went to squat beside him.

“I need you to do something for me.” Dean said once his brother was awake.

“Anything, Dean, you know that.”

Dean nodded. He didn’t want the mushy stuff right now. “There are four knives capable of cutting human flesh in the drawer in the kitchen. I need…” He needed one of them in his hands right fucking now, is what he needed. “I need them to go away.”

He couldn’t look at Sam, couldn’t bear the condemnation he’d seen in those eyes when Sam had first found out about the cutting. “I…they’re a temptation. I don’t want to…but I do.”

Sam took his hand. Dean squeezed it. “I haven’t, not since…Kaitlyn,…since I stopped with Tony…but I could…I will.” He finally looked up. Sam’s face was startled, probably from the intensity in Dean’s face. “Please…just make them go away.”

Sam nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it. Why don’t you…go lay down?”

Dean nodded and squeezed his hand again, then moved toward the bedroom as he listened as his brother went into the kitchen, and the drawer was opened. There was the rustling of a paper bag and then the sound of the front door. Dean licked his lips and lay down on the bed nearest the door. He didn’t expect to sleep, but he heard his father get up, felt him hover over the bed. He didn’t want to talk…didn’t want to think…just lay there…just be alone…John settled a blanket over him and left the room.

Sam appeared in the room an hour later, a pair of sweatpants in his hand and an empty shopping bag in the other. He looked angry, determined. “Strip. Empty your pockets onto the bed, take off all of your clothes and then you can have these.” Dean blinked up at him for a minute before he slowly moved to standing.

He nodded. Sam was right. It was starting. It was time to reduce his means to do damage. That meant making him vulnerable, just like they did in the hospital. No jewelry, no shoes, no pockets. “The watch. You can keep the wedding ring.”

Dean didn’t look at Sam as he pulled the cell phone out and tossed it on the bed, his car keys and a tube of Chapstick with it. He dropped his jeans to the floor, followed by his boxers and bent to pull off his socks. When he was naked, Sam tossed him the sweats and picked up his other clothes to stuff into the shopping bag.

Dean tugged the sweats into place and only then would he look up at Sam. He offered a tentative smile and after a hesitation, Sam returned it. “Dad’s making breakfast.”

Dean nodded, though he wasn’t really hungry. “Yeah…okay.” He sat back down on the bed and watched Sam shove his cell phone into his own pocket. “If…she calls…tell her I love her?”

Sam nodded and stood there silent and awkward. “I never told Dad…about the cutting.”

“And now?”

Sam shook his head. “Does he need to know?”

Dean sighed. “I asked for help because I needed it Sam. I haven’t done it in years…and it was the first thing I thought of…it would have been so easy.”

“No, but you haven’t dealt with this kind of stress in years either, Dean. I should have realized.”

“Now you do. You can be prepared.”

“I am, now.”

Dean reached out for him, grabbed his wrist. “I’ll ask you, you know…when it gets bad…when I start to feel again…after the sick part. I’ll ask you to give me what Tony gave me…I know I will…and I hate myself already.”

Sam shook his head and moved closer, his arm circling around and drawing Dean closer. “No…don’t hate yourself Dean, it isn’t your fault. God…if you want to hate someone, hate me. I did this to you…I drove you to it.”

“If you boys are done hating one another, breakfast is ready.”

 

The first days were hard. Aside from his anxiety, he felt fairly normal. A little light headed as he crawled out of bed and headed for the sound of Sam in the kitchen…slightly nauseous…But it was as the coffee hit his stomach that morning that he knew it was starting for earnest.

He barely made the bathroom, retching violently into the toilet. When he emerged a few minutes later, Sam and John were both waiting for him. He took his seat gingerly at the table, noticing Sam had swapped out his coffee cup for a bottle of water. “You’re going to need it.”

Dean nodded and took a swig, hoping it didn’t churn his stomach up even more. His fingers drummed on the table top for a minute, then he looked up. “Just…so I know we’re all on the same page here…I know I’m going to be pretty out of it…and I know you’ve brought in drugs…I don’t…I don’t want you to use them, okay? Not unless…don’t let me hurt anyone…but…it will only be harder.”

John squeezed his hand. “No one gets any drugs that aren’t necessary, okay? My word.”

Dean nodded. “We’ll likely end up with you on an IV, just to make sure you stay hydrated and such.” Dean nodded again.

“Yeah, I get that.” He swallowed more water, and waited for it to find a place in his stomach to settle. When it became obvious that it wasn’t going to stay down, he raced for the bathroom again.

“It’s gonna be a long day.” Dean said with as much humor as he could muster when Sam came into the bathroom several hours later, a damp cloth in his hand. He didn’t think he had anything else to throw up…but then, he’d thought that hours before too.

“You should try to drink something.”

Dean shook his head. “No. God, no. This feels good.” He held the cool cloth against his forehead and leaned against the tub. “You know, I’ve always hated having to throw up. I’d rather have a sore throat or even those headaches that came with the visions…you know? Ah, fuck.” He tossed the cloth aside and leaned over the toilet again, heaving until his sides hurt and he wasn’t actually bringing up anything anymore.

The next hours were something of a blur of vomiting and drinking water, only to vomit more. He fell asleep at some point on the cool tile of the bathroom and woke to his father gently tugging him up and Sam lifting his legs.

He panicked a little as John wrestled his right hand into the restraints on the bed, his eyes searching out John’s and he calmed a little as his big hand smoothed down over Dean’s arm. Sam worked on his left hand and for a minute, Dean thought he was crying. “’S’Okay, Sammy….’s’Okay.” Sam turned away for a minute, and when he turned back he seemed to be in better control.

Time blurred after that. He had vague memories of shouting, of more retching, his body turned so that he could vomit over the side of the bed. Images of his father and Sam swam through a landscape of other faces…words of comfort blurred with words of contempt, of derision. Tony’s knife and Dr. MacAfferty’s pen.

His body hurt, hell his fucking hair hurt. He was burning up, covered in sweat and somehow chilled to the bone. He opened one eye. His father sat beside him in a light doze. He swallowed and looked around him. The room was dark. The shadows seemed to move, squirming around as if they wanted nothing more than to get to him and smother him. He shook his head, pulling at the restraints.

“Dean?”

“No!” He pulled harder. On some level he recognized his father’s hands on him, but his face was distorted, and Dean tried to move away. “No! Let me go…let me…Need to go…need…Dad…need Sam….” His body convulsed, arching up off the bed, trying to escape the hands…hands everywhere. He screamed as he felt the needle.

“It’s okay Dean…I’ve got you.” John’s hands were on his head, even as the drugs worked into him, seducing his rigid muscles into relaxation. “That’s it…settle down. It’s going to be okay.”

“We should hook up the IV now, so this isn’t so difficult if we need to do it again.” Dean heard someone near him telling his father.

“He needs the fluids too. He’s dehydrated.” John said. Dean’s eyes rolled, falling on his father’s face. There were tear tracks on them.

“You okay, Dad?” he asked slowly and thickly.

John smiled. “I’m good Dean. I’m good.”

“Me too.”

 

 

The dark was the worst, when the dark played tricks on his mind, when the faces swam with shadows and the shadows squirmed with faces. He whispered…he could hear himself whispering, with no idea what he was saying or to who.

Sometimes he fought it, sometimes he just closed his eyes harder and hoped it would go away. Sometimes, when he was very lucky, he could force himself back to sleep, and when he’d wake up, the sunlight would be coming in the window.

Sam was usually there then…holding his coffee and watching…sometimes from the near the window, sometimes in the chair by the bed. He looked like hell…three days growth on his face making him look older than his 19 years, making him look more like their father. “You look like shit.” Dean squeezed out of his abused throat.

Sam grinned. “I’m a beauty queen compared to you.”

Dean licked his dry lips and glanced around the room. They were alone. Sam came closer. “Fever broke through the night. I sent everyone out to get some air. Thought you might like me to clean you up a bit.”

Dean nodded. “That’d be good.”

Sam brushed his face with one hand. “Hang tight, I’ll go get some water.”

Dean watched him leave and felt a moment of panic. He was still strapped to a hospital bed, weak and vulnerable and now he was alone. Sam was back quickly though, a basin of water and a sponge in his hands. “How long?”

Sam smiled. “Twelve days. How do you feel?”

Dean had to think about it as Sam set up to sponge bathe him. “Headache…the kind that’s going to get worse. My throat is sore…raw. Trembly.”

Sam chuckled. “Is that a word?”

“Inside…shaky, you know.”

Sam nodded, working the sponge up over his chest, wiping away days of sweat. “Dad says the fever breaking is a good sign that we’re over the hardest hurdle.”

Dean nodded and tugged a little on the restraints. “And these?”

Sam bit his lip and moved to pull Dean’s sweat pants off. “Still necessary, I’m afraid. You’re pretty violent in your sleep. Gave Marcus a fat lip the night you ripped one loose.”

“Yeah…okay.” Dean’s body flushed as Sam’s sponge dragged a wet path past his groin and down his thigh. It was…humiliating, to lay there while his brother bathed him…but somehow his cock was less than humiliated by it.

Sam laughed. “Eager much?”

Dean blushed and tried to will it away. “Well…you did say everyone was gone.”

Sam shook his head and continued his work, wiping down Dean’s legs and feet before moving back up toward his groin. “We don’t have long, Dean. Dad and Caleb will be back soon.”

“Then you should hurry.” Dean said with a grin. Sam stopped and looked down at him.

“You are incorrigible. Thankfully, I have more restraint.”

“Aw, come on Sammy.”

Sam kissed him, silencing him as his tongue worked its way into his mouth. “I’m not going to fuck you like this Dean.”

Dean knew he was right, knew that it wasn’t right. Didn’t stop his body from craving it though, from wanting to feel his brother’s weight on top of him, feel that pressure/pain/pleasure. “No…yeah…I mean… I get it.”

Sam kissed him again, his wet hand circling around his cock. “I have no problem jacking you off though. You look like you need a little relief.”

Dean closed his eyes and relaxed into Sam’s ministrations, feeling some of the cold leave his body. It wasn’t enough…not near hard enough, but Sam seemed to have other ways of pushing him closer to orgasm, his free hand using the rough surface of the sponge over his nipples while his mouth worked over his neck. “When this is over, Dean, I’m going to bend you over and take you from behind…I’m going to fuck your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit. I’ll make you feel so good you forget everything else.”

“Sammy…” His fist closed just a little harder and Dean couldn’t help but yell as he came. Sam kissed him again and used the sponge to clean him up. “Fuck, Sam.”

“Later Dean. You hungry? Kaitlyn sent over some chicken broth, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Maybe you could…put my clothes on me first?”

Sam stopped at the door way and turned. “You need to dry off first Dean.” He said it playfully and disappeared. If he could have, Dean would have thrown something at him.

 

It was a brief reprieve. The night brought back the terrors and Dean let himself retreat inside again, pushing away all but the lightest of Sam’s touches in the terror. Two more days passed before he fought his way clear again. His father was there with Evangeline as he opened his eyes. Her smile told him most of what he needed to know.

“Is it done?”

John nodded. “We think so. Physically anyway. Now we need to get your strength back, get you on your feet.”

“Sam?”

“I made him go lay down. He’s worn out.”

“Kaitlyn?”

John chuckled. “She’s called every hour for the last twelve. She wants to come see you.”

“I want to see her too. But...”

John’s hand descended on his leg. “I told her to give you another couple of days, Dean. Let’s get you out of those restraints and see about getting you something a little more solid than chicken broth.”

Dean’s stomach signaled it’s readiness for food at it’s mention and he nodded eagerly. Several hours later, he’d eaten most of an actual meal and was feeling more like himself. Aside from the jittery, nagging feeling that he was forgetting something…like waiting but not sure what he was waiting for.

On the morning Kaitlyn was going to show up, Dean managed to stand long enough to get into the tub, though taking a shower was out of the question. Sam helped him with the in and outs and with brushing his teeth and shaving. He toyed with the idea of getting Sam to cut his hair too, it was so long he actually needed to comb it.

By the time Sam got him back into his room, the plastic sheeting was gone, the bed had clean sheets, and aside from the sound proofing and the hospital bed, it could almost be his bedroom.

Her face was pale, white really as she pushed the door open. He smiled and held his arms out for her. Kaitlyn came, brushing away tears. “I’m okay, Kate…really.”

“I know.” She let him wrap her up in his arms and cried openly on his shoulder. “I’ve been so scared, Dean. Jenny kept telling me it was going to be okay…but if I lost you…” She took a deep breath and slowly sat back.

He wasn’t sure what to say. He wiped the tears off her cheeks. “I told you I’m not the leaving kind, baby. I…I’m here.”

She smiled then, through the tears, her eyes glistening as she brought his hand up to kiss. “You look…good.”

“Now I know you’re lying. I do have a mirror round this joint you know. I look like hell.”

“No, Dean, you’re beautiful.” She kissed him, leaning in to press her lips onto his. “Most beautiful man I know.”

He might have laughed if she wasn’t so serious…if she didn’t mean it with every ounce of herself. It amazed him how a woman like her found him…through the fucked up shit that was his life, she’d found him…the man he was under it all…and she loved him. That was maybe the most humbling thing he’d ever come to realize.

“We aren’t done.” Dean said after a while. “I can’t even stand up on my own for more than a minute or two.”

“Nothing a few good meals and some sleep can’t cure.”

Dean swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The little panic attacks had come off and on over the last few days, and this one seemed more…seemed bigger. “Just…give me a second.” He put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her off of him, breathing as deep as he could. “Just…” He closed his eyes, but that made it worse.

“Panic attack…just…sit there, hold my hand.” Dean could feel her fingers, and tried to concentrate on them as they weaved into his and held. “Fuck.” He shivered and breathed deep, pushing away the feeling that the air itself was out to kill him.

“Dean?”

He looked at her and offered a weak smile as it started to pass. “Evie says their temporary, while my mind and body adjust. It…its kind of like…something’s trying to suffocate me.”

She pouted at him, toying with his hair. “I’ve never seen your hair this long.”

He made a face. “I should have Sam cut it.”

“No…I like it…a new look for the new you.”

He laughed and pulled her close again. “Yeah…maybe…we’ll see. How’s my boy?”

“Beautiful, just like his Daddy.”

“I’ll bet he’s got a lot of his Mommy too.”

She kissed him then, soft, and he could taste her sadness. “I’ll be home before you know it, baby.”

“Promise?”

He grinned. “Promise.”

“Good, because I really miss you.”

“Ah, you just miss the sex.”

“Well, it is world class sex.”

 

Dean got restless really fast after getting his body clean, and he recognized the return of nervous habits from the early days after Cassie’s death. One knee or the other nearly continually bounced whenever he sat down and he’d already chewed his nails down to the quick and had moved on to his cuticles.

It took almost a week for him to move freely around the apartment without assistance, and that was about three days longer than he really wanted to tolerate. Sam managed to recognize when it was building and divert him, even getting him out to walk the hallways and when he was ready, the stairs…channeling some of the energy into physical activity.

Jenny appeared just as Dean was sure he was going to go crazy, her knock light, her smile bright. She stopped just inside the apartment. “You look good, Dean.”

He shrugged, brushing it off. “I take it, if you’re here…it’s time?”

She nodded. “I waited…Reuel wanted to be sure you’d be strong enough. He hasn’t told me what to expect, but I get the impression it won’t be pleasant.”

Dean had had time to think about that. He figured it wouldn’t be pleasant. Anything that would be enough to convince him to erase two years of his life had to be pretty awful. “Yeah, I kinda figured that. How?”

She looked around the room. “Well, I’m not sure. Sam and John, you should stay, since this effects you both directly, but make sure you stand clear, and don’t touch either of us. This is going to be a little different than last time, a more complete manifestation if you will. We’ve been working on it.”

She shivered and closed her eyes. When they opened they were laced with silver. “Come away from the tables, Dean, lest you fall.” Her voice had deepened, changed. Her features flittered a little, changing her face just enough to make Dean rub his eyes. “You aren’t seeing things, Dean.” There was a ruffling sound and wings unfurled from Jenny’s back. “Come, closer now. Don’t be afraid. I will do my best to buffer you from the pain.”

Dean shook his head as he looked into Jenny’s eyes and saw only Reuel in them. His senses opened up and he could feel others…in the room…around the building. “You didn’t come alone.”

Jenny’s mouth turned in a smile. “Very good Dean. I can see the detox has begun to awaken your gifts.”

Dean swallowed. “Don’t hold back. I need to know. I need to feel it.”

There was concern in the silvery depths, compassion. “There is no need, Dean. The memories alone should be—“

“No. I made a fucking terrible decision. There had to have been equally terrible circumstances. I need to know…I have to stop hiding from the pain.”

She nodded. “Give me your hands then, Dean. Close your eyes, and let me show you what you gave away.”

Dean stole a glance over his shoulder at his father and brother, then offered up both hands in the space between them. He took a deep breath as her cool fingers slid over his skin, closing over his hands. The first touch was soft, almost like an arm wrapping around him, drawing him. The first flickers of images were happy, things he knew…Sammy and the Impala and the summer they spent fixing it up…graduation…and took a turn darker, spotting demons in passing people…seeing Cassie’s ghost, Tony and the night of graduation, the cutting…the sex…

Dean swallowed. The fight with Sammy. It had ended with a trip in to see Dr. MacAfferty, only now it didn’t…they went to dinner with their father…who grabbed them…drugged them…”God.” Dean groaned and felt his knees give out.

His body shook as he relived the detox in the barn…the screaming…wanting to die…begging to die…the visions, shared with Sam…The images of Janet and Jenny dead…of Sam, his eyes so dark they were black…

There was pain, physical pain from the training and the desire to bleed…to cut and keep cutting…the shame and embarrassment of getting caught, hard and needing to come so desperately and unable to without the pain…of his father…holding him while he jerked off to the pain of the cut in his thigh.

“No…god…stop…” Dean tried to pull his hands free, but Jenny was surprisingly strong, holding his wrists as the deluge into his brain continued.

His father’s face, gold-green eyes…Jenny and Sam dead…simple promise…just a little thing and it would be okay…it could all go back to normal…You want normal, don’t you Dean? Never see your father again, never use your gifts…no one dies…life is sweet and good…Just say yes…

“Fuck!” Dean finally pulled his hands free and doubled over, sobbing. He could feel them…Sam and his father,…Jenny and Reuel…the others, all crowding around him. He held his arms around his stomach and rocked himself as he tried to flush that final image out of his mind. “Just…everybody…back off. Let me breathe.”

He was shaking, random moments of time flashing in his memory. Fourteen year old Sam crying out his confession and the rage that it brought…the knife in the bathroom…the frantic need to bleed…just a little…just enough…His father, touching him…trying to make it better…to give him what he needed…

“I’m gonna be sick.” Dean stumbled to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. “Fuck….oh my god…” He flushed and turned to sit on the cool tile, his back against the porcelain of the tub. Jenny was the first to join him. Reuel wasn’t gone, but it was clear it was Jenny in control as she knelt next to him.

“He tried to warn you.” She said gently, offering him a glass of water.

Dean closed his eyes. He couldn’t stand to see anyone. “You died.” His voice was strained, shaky.

“Yes, I know. Reuel told me before.”

“You…and Sam….and…” He pressed the glass to his forehead. “I couldn’t save you…I couldn’t…god…Jenny…the things I’ve done…”

“Dean?”

His father’s voice echoed in the bathroom, into his body…and he could feel his father touching him, hurting him…fucking him…because he was so weak and so needy and John loved him so damn much he was willing to even do that to help him.

Dean held up his hand and John stopped in the door way. “Not…now…Dad. I…” There were tears rolling down his face and he hurt, his stomach muscles sore, his legs twitchy and achy. “Just…” It rolled through his head again. _He palmed his father’s cock roughly, guiding it toward his opening. John’s hand moved between them stroking over Dean’s ass and squeezing. “Lube?” It was barely mouthed and Dean rolled so that he was on his stomach, shaking his head and lifting his ass toward him. “God, Dean.”_

His face had to have been flame red as he was washed through with shame and turned his face away. John stood there, unmoving. “Dean…whatever it is, I love you. You’re my son and I’m not leaving.”

Dean licked his lips and shook his head. “No…Dad…” His voice was thick with tears. “No…this…no…” He didn’t deserve a second chance at anything. He certainly didn’t deserve these gifts everyone insisted he had. On the drugs he’d had a chance to be normal…to not need to cut his leg open or be fucked raw just to cope with his life. On the drugs he had Kaitlyn and Daniel…and Sam…and maybe the thing with Sam wasn’t normal…but it made him happy.

“John, please go back to the living room. Give me time with Dean.” Jenny’s voice was more like Reuel’s again and John nodded stiffly before walking away. “Dean, look at me.”

Dean pushed tears off his face and looked up at Jenny. “I can see why I chose…I can’t lose Sam…I can’t…”

She nodded, her face sad as she reached for him. “I can put it back…take it all away again.”

He pulled clear of her hand and stood. “No. No. I don’t know that I want you to do that. I don’t know what I want right now. There’s so much to figure out.”

He wanted to scream…wanted to throw things…wanted…He bit down on the meaty part of his palm, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but enough to bring the pain. He was panting and shaking his head. “Now that you have this…your gifts will be coming back in force.” Reuel was saying. “The next few days will be very disorienting.”

Dean was scarcely listening, images from dreams and visions fitting together in his head. He looked at himself in the mirror, looked into his eyes. The truth was in there somewhere…in the jumbled up mess…

He pushed past Jenny and went back to the living room. He couldn’t look at his father, but he could handle Sam. “I’m going to touch you Sam…and it’s gonna be intense. Just…hold on okay?”

Sam had scarcely nodded when Dean grabbed his hand and they sank together to the floor. Dean let the images come, drawing out matching images from Sam, visions and dreams they’d shared without ever knowing it, fine details fitting together until Dean finally let go, leaving them both panting.

Dean knew now. It was far from over. It was only the start. Somehow his family had become the focal point in a clan war between demons, and now that the cat was out of the bag, the battle was going to heat up. “We have to figure out the timeline.” He scrambled to his feet. “There’s two of them to track…I need to go see Tony.”

John’s hands on his shoulders stopped him from actually going for the door. Dean stiffened, flushed red and his breath caught in his throat. “Not tonight. Visiting hours are over.”

“Dad.” Dean’s voice cracked. “Let…let go…please.”

“My god, Dean, what did I do?”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing….just…please. God…Dad.” The tears were back and John let him go. Dean sank back against the couch, the surge of energy gone. “I’m tired.” He looked up at Jenny, at Reuel, his wings spread out again.

“It will take some time for you to adjust, Dean. I suggest you stay here where we can keep you safe.”

“I can keep him from dying.” Dean said softly. “I know now…what I did.”

Jenny smiled. “He has a few weeks left in him Dean. You needn’t go tonight.”

“Dr. MacAfferty.” Dean said suddenly, sitting up.

“What?” Sam had finally gotten up off the floor.

“I don’t know how long…but the last few times I’ve seen her…”

_“Your gifts have gotten quite strong since you came of the drugs Dean. It’s a shame really, my son nearly had you.” His father’s face loomed large over him._

Dean blinked. “The demon said his son nearly had me…he meant the drugs…he meant her.”

“Your shrink is possessed?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged, suddenly too tired to think anymore. “Don’t know.” He yawned and struggled to keep his eyes open.

“We will be nearby through the night in case of trouble. He should sleep and stay relaxed tomorrow. All will work itself out now that we have come this far.”

Dean didn’t hear anything else, he just drifted off to sleep.

_“I will kill this body I’m in too, Dean. I’ll kill her.” He gestured to Janet, still huddled on the floor. “I’ll give this town over to my children and let the people of this town bleed the way Cassie bled.”_

_He came close again, his hand bruising against his face. “I’ve done all of this for you.”_

_“Why? Why me?”_

_“I like you Dean. You took gifts that weren’t yours to take. You swallowed down everything he gave you, even though it will kill you…you’re devoted. I need a guy like that on my side.”_

_“What is it you want?”_

_The smile on his father’s face was petrifying. “All you have to do, Dean, is never ever use them. Bury them under the drugs, lock yourself away. I don’t care what you do or how.”_

_“I don’t control them…they just come.”_

_“Like I said, don’t care what or how. I’m involved in war Dean. You have to choose a side. Its me or another like me. You know they won’t leave you alone. You can feel it.” His hands slithered over Dean, wringing sobs out of him as he stared in the cold dead face of his brother, his Sam._

_“He’ll be alive?”_

_“Yes, Dean. Sam, Jenny, Janet. It will be like you never left.”_

_“And my father?”_

_“I’ll spare him as well. Memories clean, whole new ones even. No one will ever know.”_

Dean woke with a start, shaking from head to toe. He was alone in the living room, and judging by the light making its way in the window it was very early morning. He didn’t know which was worse, the memories of begging his father to fuck him…or the ones of his father’s face twisted up in the demon’s sneer.

He sat up, and regretted it as his head spun and the pounding started somewhere behind his temples. It was odd to have two sets of memories for any given day…one where he met Kaitlyn, dropped his whisk when she said his name for the first time…and another where he was bent under the hood of the Impala in Bobby’s yard.

He tried to stand up, but found the world tilted a little under him. He felt Sam rousing, uncomfortable…then the building pressure, and he was grateful he was sitting down. The pain wasn’t as bad as he remembered, it was more pressure. The images came rapidly, in widescreen panoramic view…a town in ruins, bodies strewn over the streets…blood in pools and rivers…It was the battlefield…after the war had been fought…and in it’s center two demons in their true forms, laughing at the destruction around them.


End file.
